


Death is Part of the Process, Part Five: The Sleep of Reason

by Licoriceallsorts



Series: Death is Part of the Process [5]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, FFVII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Licoriceallsorts/pseuds/Licoriceallsorts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Veld's odd quote is obviously not from Loveless. Who wrote it, and which work is it from?</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

  
_Extracts from the minutes of the emergency meeting of the Shinra Electric Company Board of Directors, 2_   
_nd_   _October 2002._   


  
_Present_   
  
_\- President Shinra, Vice-President Rufus, Palmer, Scarlett, Heidegger, Tuesti; Tseng, at the invitation of the President_

  
_Apologies_   
  
_: Veld, Hojo_

 _  
Item 1.1 Report on Nibelheim Incident   
_

_Tseng of the Investigative Affairs Section of the Department of Administrative Research was invited to give a verbal report on the incident at Nibelheim that took place on the 1_   
_st_   _inst. …_

 _  
… Item 1.12 Reconstruction of Nibelheim   
_

_Heidegger proposed that responsibility for the reconstruction of Nibelheim be undertaken by the Department for Urban Development.  Scarlet seconded motion. Tuesti objected that this would create significant setbacks in the schedule for the completion of Sector 6, even if additional funds were allocated for the project.  Further discussion ensued, off the record. On the record, Palmer invited Tuesti to consider tendering his resignation; Tuesti declined the invitation. Motion passed nem con, one abstention. President provisionally accepted motion, amending it to read  ‘the Department for Urban Development shall carry out the work under the supervision of the Department of Administrative Research’._

 _  
Item 1.13 Date for completion of reconstruction   
_

_President set date for completion of Nibelheim reconstruction as 15_   
_th_   
_November 2002…._

 _  
… Item 4.1 Future of SOLDIER   
_

_Scarlett proposed that the temporary transfer of responsibility for SOLDIER to the Department of Public Safety Maintenance be confirmed as a permanent subsumption of SOLDIER within the regular armed forces. Palmer seconded the motion. Motion passed nem con, one abstention. President accepted motion…._

 _*** *** ***_

  _Surveillance Duty_

Aerith sings to herself as she waters the flowers, and sometimes shakes her hips a little, imagining she’s dancing.

            Tseng sits quietly in the rafters, watching her. He’s never done this before. He’s always come in through the front door.  But he wants to treasure this image of her, his happy girl, in the little time she has left before he breaks the news.

            The official announcement is coming out today. _Killed in action._ He knows he has to tell her first; and though he cannot tell her everything, what he can tell her will be the truth.

            _He sacrificed himself to save others._

Then what? __

_After a while it won’t hurt so much._

 _There’ll be other boys. Other loves._

 _You’ll get over it, you’ll survive._

 _I’m sorry…._

            What can he say that won’t make her despise him?

            Meanwhile, on the 66th floor of the tall building far, far above Tseng’s head, Reno sits facing the Chief, and he says,

            “I’m not asking where she is, sir. I don’t want to know. I’m just saying she shouldn’t have to hear it on the news. You need to tell her. And you need to tell her about Mozo.”

 _*** *** ***_

 _ Shinra Electric Company Press Release, 3rd October 2002  
_

 _Two days ago the terrorist group AVALANCHE launched an attack on the mako reactor in Nibelheim, resulting in lengthy power outages in those areas relying on supplies from Shinra Number One. An attempt was also made to burn down the town, and a number of monsters were set loose on the innocent townspeople.  It is our sad duty to announce that the Hero of the Wutai War, General Sephiroth, and SOLDIER 1 st Class Zack Fair lost their lives defending the people of Nibelheim from this senseless outrage. Thanks to their heroic sacrifice, casualties were kept to a minimum, though some slight damage to the fabric of the town was sustained. President Shinra has taken the people of Nibelheim under his direct protection and will ensure that all necessary steps for their comfort and wellbeing are put in place. However, until the full extent of the damage has been confirmed, and until it can be ascertained that all monsters have been cleared from the surrounding mountains, the town of Nibelheim has been placed under quarantine. Communication services in and out of Nibelheim have been suspended until further notice.  People concerned for families or friends who may be in Nibelheim are encouraged to call this number…_

In Corel there was a cheap hotel overlooking the coal train tracks. In this cheap hotel there was a small back bedroom, and in this small back bedroom a dark-haired girl and a wiry old man were watching the news on a grainy black and white TV.  She was lying in the bed, her broken ankle propped up on a pillow. All over her body bruises were ripening from purple to green.  It had cost Zangan most of the gil in his wallet to have the sword slash down her chest sewn together and cured with a potion; there’d been no money left over to treat injuries that would heal on their own.  He was sitting cross-legged in the middle the floor, his back perfectly straight from a lifetime of martial arts training. He’d told her she was lucky she hadn’t died.  She wasn’t so sure.

            She’d learnt a lot of things this last week or so; she’d grown up fast. For starters, she’d learnt there was no such thing as a hero.  For another, she’d finally learnt to let go of that childhood dream. Friends moved away, moved on, forgot the promises they’d made. Nobody was going to come and rescue her.  Zangan had brought her this far; he had saved her skin, she supposed – saved her beating heart, saved her charged mind, saved her skills and her memories. She couldn’t really say, though, that her old teacher had saved her _life._ That was buried under the ashes of Nibelheim. She’d have to begin a new one now.

            She didn’t need Zangan to tell her that there was no point in opening her mouth to expose the lies. No one would want to believe her.  And if she got too loud, drew too much attention to herself, they’d find her, those steel-eyed people in the dark blue suits.

            But now she knew one more thing. She’d just found it out. She knew the name of her enemy’s enemy.  That was a start.

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Veld kept his Turks busy in the weeks that followed, assigning them missions that would once have fallen to SOLDIER. He partnered Turks who had been in Nibelheim with those who had not, and sent them into the Sector Seven slums to clear out nests of monsters, or down to the marine caves in Mideel to look for naturally occurring materia, or across to Gongaga to eliminate a flock of Genesis copies, or into South Corel to pursue AVALANCHE sightings. He flew them to Icicle Inn to help rescue the survivors of a real, and equally deadly, avalanche; he sent them off to Bone Village to dig for Ancient artefacts; he had them unloading crates of ammunition on the docks at Junon, giving master classes at the Academy, re-organising the filing, learning to pilot submarines, surveying the woods south of Junon, anything and everything he could think of. If they still had time on their hands, he put them through their paces in the SIM room on what had been the SOLDIER floor, or flew them far out into the badlands and made them orienteer their way back to Midgar.  At night they fell into their beds exhausted.

            And though they all knew that Mozo was dead, somehow, even for those who had been with him when he died, it didn’t quite seem real.  He could as easily have been out on a mission.  They knew he wasn’t coming back – and yet sometimes they thought they saw him going down the corridor, or getting into the elevator. And sometimes one of them would see his bushy head of brown hair walking through a crowded street, and would hurry to catch him up, to grab his shoulder and laugh and say, hey, I knew it couldn’t be true. I just knew it.

            But he always eluded their touch, like the ghost that he was.

 *** *** ***

            With Mozo dead, Skeeter was assigned to help Rude and Reno complete the set-up of the bunker’s communications system. He didn’t have Mozo’s skills with wires and screwdrivers, but he was determined to learn.  At nearly nineteen, Skeet was no longer the pretty boy he’d been two years ago when he joined the Turks.  He had grown taller, and his shoulders had filled out. His jaw was leaner, his nose broader, his brow heavier.  Hard work and hard living had rubbed the blush from his cheeks. His curls, though, were still golden.

            One day in the middle of December – it might have been morning, or afternoon, or midnight; they lost all track of time inside the plate and just kept working until Tseng called them home or they were too tired to go on – the three of them were on a break, eating sandwiches they’d bought at a stall on the way in, and drinking coffee from a thermos Rosalind had filled, when Skeeter, looking round the windowless concrete space, laughed and said, “Shit, it’s like being buried alive, isn’t it? I sure pity whoever it is the Chief plans on keeping down in this airless hole. Is it for AVALANCHE prisoners, d’you think?”

            Reno and Rude exchanged glances.

            “Don’t you get it, Skeet?” said Reno. “It’s for us.”

            Skeeter’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Us? But why? For what?”

            “The Chief didn’t say,” said Rude. “But you never know. It’s best to be prepared. Just in case.”

 *** *** *** 

Pages from Aviva’s diary, 22nd December, 2002

 _Is it the work, or is it me?_

 _I mean, is the work really getting dirtier? Or am I just seeing it more clearly? I never thought that Shinra was perfect. I always knew it would be like a bigger and shinier Corel.  The difference is that what we’re doing here isn’t just about greed and money and power, even if it is about all of those things too. And I still believe that what we’re doing here is worth doing. The more I see of AVALANCHE, the more deeply I believe it. Shinra can build a better future for everybody. But a lot of mistakes get made on the way. It’s not easy._

 _I think about Mozo a lot.  Would I have the courage to do what he did? I like to think I would. I guess everybody thinks that about themselves. But what if you’re in that situation and you don’t realize it? What if I’ve already been in a situation like that, and didn’t know? With Dr Rayleigh I thought I was doing the right thing, but I know now that more than one person has died as a direct result of AVALANCHE getting that data disk._

 _I wish I could ask Mozo what he was thinking. I’m not supposed to know that it was Professor Hojo who killed him. I don’t really know all the details. R told me a bit.  He said that Hojo told Moe to do something and Moe said No. What thing? I asked. He said he couldn’t tell me but I kept asking and finally he says, something wrong, OK, and now he’s dead and Hojo got someone else to do it. And R said, Moe was the one telling me the first rule was never to get involved._

 _Maybe you’ve been wondering, Diary, why I don’t write about R much any more.  I would like to tell you it’s because my feelings have changed. Sadly……_

 _*** *** ***_

27th December

 _Special day today! Charlie was in town and he came to take me out to dinner like he always does, just him and me.  I don’t know why he’s taken a shine to me. Maybe it’s because I’m the baby of the office. Or maybe it’s because he’s kind of responsible for breaking my leg. R calls him my sugar daddy. I should be grateful R even notices that somebody wants my company. I’d like to think that R is just the teeniest, weeniest, tiniest bit jealous  - not of me, I mean, but of our friendship. If that’s what we are. _

_Anyway it isn’t like that with me and Charlie. Or maybe it is kind of like what a dad would be.  He makes me put on one of those dresses I never get to wear and takes me out to an expensive restaurant and he spoils me.  He asks me about my boyfriends and when I tell him I don’t have any he says nobody is good enough for Charlie’s girl. He makes me laugh, the way R used to make me laugh when he was happy._

 _I talked to him about the dirty business stuff. About Mozo. I asked him if he knows what really happened with Moe and he said he knows as much as he needs to.  He said that this is a war and that we were soldiers and that soldiers have to accept that they’re going to see and do things they might not want or choose.  Well, how could I forget him at Junon? He was having a blast, if you’ll forgive the pun, dear diary. So I said, ‘but you love it, Charlie, and Mr Tseng always says that we should take pride in our work, not pleasure’. And he said ‘Tseng needs to learn how to let his hair down’. I shouldn’t have laughed but I did._

 _After that, though, he got serious, and I want to write down what he said word for word so that I always remember it. He said, ‘now you listen to old Charlie’ (he always calls himself old but he can’t really be that old. 37? 38?). ‘I have dirtier hands than anybody’, he said. ‘All those years when I only did it for the money.  But in this world nobody has clean hands either.  It’s only a matter of degree. The important thing is to pick the right side and to stick with it through thick and thin. It’s no good saying, “I’ll do this but I won’t do that”.  You have to do whatever it takes. It’s all or nothing. That’s what it means to make a commitment to something bigger than yourself.’_

 _I said, ‘so why did you pick our side? Why do you stick with us?’  He said, ‘because of the Chief’.  Which I totally understand._

 _After that he said he wasn’t going to talk shop any more, and made me tell him about the new band I went to see with Hunter and Cavs…_

*** *** ***

            While Aviva was busy writing this, Tseng and Charlie sat facing each other over two tall glasses of dry sherry.  The end of Charlie’s cigar glowed orange in the lamplit gloom of Augusto’s den.

            “I’m surprised it’s Wutai,” Tseng was saying. “I wouldn’t have thought they would want to provoke us again so soon.”

            “Godo doesn’t know,” Charlie replied. “The AVALANCHE leadership have presented themselves to him as investors.  Said they wanted to build a toy factory.  He’s put them up in the Pagoda. We’ll have to rebuild it afterwards, of course, as a goodwill gesture.”

            “Next week, then?”

            “That’s the plan.”

            “And you’re going alone?”

            “I need a back-up,” said Charlie. “I was hoping it would be you.”

            Tseng looked down at his folded hands, and took a while before he answered. “Did you speak to the Commander about this?”

            “I thought I’d ask you first.”

            “Thank you. I’m flattered, but I’m the wrong choice. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

            “You! You even speak the language, don’t you? Didn’t Veld make you learn it?”

            “Not like a native. I’ve never mastered the accent. I’d be stranger than a foreigner to them. They’d ask too many questions. I’ve never been to Wutai, Charlie, and I’d rather – I’d rather you took Knox. He could pass himself off as an ordinary tourist.”

            “Whatever you say.” Charlie took a sip of his sherry.  “You’re the boss.”

            Neither of them spoke for a while. Charlie finished his glass and called the girl to pour him another.  She brought them a bowl of salted nuts and put it on the table between them.

            “You’ve done a remarkable job,” Tseng observed.

            Charlie grinned. “Sure, you can rely on the Legend.”

            “It was Reno who suggested you.”

            “So he has flashes of common sense, eh? How is he?”

            “Surviving.”

            “Yes,” said Charlie, “I know what that feels like.  By the way, I wanted to talk to you about your little one.  Aviva. I just had dinner with her. She’s having some struggles with her conscience.  Mozo’s death has really got to her. She puts on that perky act, but she runs pretty deep.  You need to keep an eye on her.”

            Tseng inclined his head, acknowledging the advice. Then he smiled his tight smile and said, “You know what never ceases to amaze me, Charlie? This knack you have for getting people to trust you.”

            Charlie laughed.

            “No one else could have got anywhere near AVALANCHE,” Tseng went on.  “And now perhaps the end is in sight. Do you think this will finish them?”

            Charlie allowed a mouthful of smoke to escape his lips. “Honestly? I think it’ll hurt them pretty badly. But the end? I don’t know. Is it ever the end? Human nature being what it is?”

*** *** ***

 _ Extracts from the Minutes of the Shinra Electric Company Board of Directors’ Meeting, 4th January 2003  
_

 _Present : President Shinra, Vice-President Rufus, Heidegger, Scarlet, Palmer, Tuesti, Veld, Hojo_

 _  
Item 1: Destruction of AVALANCHE HQ, Wutai   
_

_Veld distributed a report on the successful completion of the mission to destroy the headquarters of the terrorist group, AVALANCHE, in Wutai._

 _  
Item 1.2: Commendation of Operatives   
_

_Veld recommended for special commendation the agent known as Legend, in recognition of his key role in the mission. VP Rufus seconded motion. Motion passed nem con. President accepted motion..._

 _  
…Item 2.3: Compensation to Wutai   
_

_Veld proposed funds be set aside to pay for the reconstruction of the Sacred Pagoda destroyed in the mission against AVALANCHE. Tuesti seconded motion. Palmer argued against the motion on the grounds that all available funds were required by the space program, which is now in its final stages. Scarlet seconded Palmer, arguing that it was naïve to believe Lord Godo did not know he was giving shelter to terrorists. Motion was not put to the vote, as President imposed veto beforehand…_

 _  
…Item 4.1: Reconstruction of Nibelheim   
_

_Tuesti reported the reconstruction of Nibelheim was completed slightly behind schedule, on the 20 th December 2002. Bad weather had held up the works…._

*** *** ***

The news broadcasts that day were joyous, announcing a major victory against AVALANCHE and the beginning of the end of the war against terrorism.  Down in the Goblins Bar, however, the boys and girls in the blue serge suits leaned closer round their corner table and reminded each other that nothing should ever be taken for granted.

            Knox, who’d bought the first round, told them Charlie wasn’t sure he’d succeeded in eliminating the key leaders. He’d killed three people who _might_ have been Elfe, Shears, and Fuhito – but they were so far away from him when the explosion went off that it was impossible to tell for certain, and afterwards there wasn’t enough left to make a positive identification.

            “The woman was sick,” Hunter chipped in. “I’ve met her. Remember?”

            Knox nodded. “Charlie thought she looked like she was deteriorating – “

            “Like Genesis?” suggested Cavour. “Maybe they used the same process on her that Hollander used with Genesis. Maybe they _are_ connected.”

            “And that could be why they wanted the disk from Dr Rayleigh last year,” Aviva added.  “Maybe they thought it could cure her.”

            Reno swilled the dregs of his beer round the bottom of his glass. “As long as Charlie snuffed _her,_ we’re good. I’d settle for that right now.”

            “She did seem to be the glue holding the two men together,” Knox agreed.

            “When _I_ fought them,” Hunter chipped in, “She seemed to be all the big guy cared about.”

            Rude said hoarsely, “AVALANCHE…. “

            Uttered like a curse, the word hung in the air. Round the table the others fell silent, waiting for him to finish the thought.

            He said, “It’s like – a cancer.”

            “You better believe it.” Knox took up Rude’s metaphor, “Leave one or two cells alive, and it’ll come back deadlier than before.  Have we really got rid of them? I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

*** *** ***

 _ Page from Aviva’s diary, 3rd February, 2003  
_

 _A guy in P.R. has asked me out on a date._

 _You may have noticed, diary, by the way I never mention them, that I don’t get asked on lots of dates.  Now I know I’m not the hottest girl in town, but to tell the truth, I’m not that bad, either. I even have boobs now.  Small, but there.  So I honestly don’t think it’s my ugly mug turning them away.  None of us gets asked out much. I mean, us girl Turks. The suit puts guys off.  I can’t say I exactly blame them.  It takes a lot of guts for a man to go up to a girl and ask for her number when he knows she’s got a gun under her jacket and can shoot to kill._

 _Or maybe it is us who put them off, a bit. I get the feeling the other girls aren’t that interested. Maybe Hunter is; I don’t know what she gets up to when she stays out all night, but if she’s got somebody, he’s not in Shinra. I haven’t seen her look twice at anyone in the building.  Mink…does she even have those kind of feelings?  And Roz says that part of her life died with Phil. _

_It’s different for the guys.  The secretaries and the receptionists are all over them.  Even Mr Tseng - I mean, of course nobody flirts with him the way they do with the others. God, who’d dare? But I’ve seen how when he talks to them, they gaze at him all doe-eyed and transfixed like they’re an animal caught in his headlights.  _

_You can’t blame the guys for taking advantage.  They’re only human._

 _But what really makes me so angry, and so sad, is when one of those girls from one of the other departments comes up to me and says, ‘oh, you’re so lucky to be working with those guys’, and I think, you don’t know anything, you just don’t know._

 _So anyway, that was a bit off the topic of my date. If I go. I was in the exhibition room looking at the model of the Shinra 26, and this guy just comes up to me and goes, ‘hi’. Which, as I said, doesn’t happen often. So I said hi. We talked about the space program for a while – he’s working on that account – and then he told me he knew my name and that his name was Louis and would I like to have dinner with him sometime, like maybe tomorrow? I think I might have accidentally said yes._

 _I ought to make the effort. He seems nice enough. Nice looking. Fair hair. Good teeth. Not tall, but taller than me (like who isn’t?). Soft hands. Nice nice nicey-nice. But, sadly, nice just doesn’t cut it. Not when you work with the kind of guys I work with. Not once you’ve known someone like R…._

 _*** *** ***_

 _ Moments from the Present: Work takes all forms  
_

            Commander Veld has finally arranged for Reno to give Rufus flying lessons.

            “Heads up, V.P.” says Reno as they climb together into the cockpit. “No way am I letting anyone else pilot this helicopter while I’m in it, unless and until I trust them one hundred and ten per cent to know what they’re doing. So don’t push it. I’ll let you know when you’re ready, not the other way round. Understood?”

            “That should be by the end of the week,” replies Rufus, “If you’re any good as an instructor.”

            Meanwhile, down where the sky is just a bad dream, Tseng takes another letter from Aerith and turns it over in his hand. The envelope of this one is lilac-coloured, sealed with a stamp of ruby wax.

            “I know you’d never read them,” she says. “But I like the wax. It’s pretty, don’t you think?”

            That makes twenty-six letters so far, one every week for the last six months, stacking up in a tray in a locked drawer of his desk.  He has stopped objecting. “I don’t want to make you a liar,” she told him early on, “So let’s not discuss it any more. Just take the letters. When you can, give them to him.”

            What does she know, exactly? How _can_ she know?

            He may have not told her the whole truth, but she is not being completely honest with him, either.

            Meanwhile, high above the seething grey clouds, Reno is obliged to admit that his pupil has talent. The V.P’s quick on the uptake: Reno doesn’t have to tell him anything twice.  Sometimes half an explanation is all he needs.  His eyes miss nothing.  At this rate, the target of flying solo by the end of the week isn’t looking so unrealistic. And he seems to be enjoying himself, though with Rufus it’s always hard to know exactly what ‘fun’ means.

            However, after they’ve landed at the end of the lesson, an odd thing happens – such a little, trivial thing that if it had happened with anyone else Reno probably wouldn’t even have noticed.  On their way out of the helicopter, the V.P. stumbles, and Reno, ever the bodyguard, automatically reaches out to stop him falling. At the touch of Reno’s hand on his arm, Rufus flinches as if he has been scalded, and his lips pull back in a snarl. It’s over in a split-second; Rufus is immediately cool again, smoothing his sleeve before jumping down to the tarmac, disdaining all offers of assistance.  Reno is left wondering if he only imagined he saw that look on Rufus’ face. He isn’t sure what to call it. Anger? Fear?

            Meanwhile, Tseng walks to the Sector 5 train station, his hand on the letter in his pocket. He wonders if Zack and Private Strife are dead yet.  For their sakes, and for his own sake, he hopes so.

 


	2. Rocket Town

Attendance at the launch of Shinra Rocket Number 26 was by Presidential invitation only.

            The day was perfect: a clear blue sky, with a few wispy clouds low on the horizon, a warm spring sun, and a cool breeze blowing off the mountains. Several hundred blue-uniformed troopers patrolled the nine or so square miles of perimeter fencing, keeping a careful watch on the hordes of the great unwashed assembling excitedly on the other side. Small children rode their father’s shoulders; mothers unpacked picnics. Fingers wove through the chain link fence as people pressed their faces to the wire, gazing enviously, dreamily, at the large white marquee erected behind the viewing stands, where those powerful enough, rich enough, or lucky enough to be in possession of a gold-embossed invitation card were currently helping themselves to lunch at President Shinra’s expense.  The entrance flaps to the marquee had been tied back to catch the breeze; soldiers armed with submachine guns stood guard.

            Inside the marquee, Rufus Shinra detached himself from the festivities and stepped out into the sunlight for a breath of fresh air.  From the far side of the perimeter fence a cheer went up. The humble spectators had recognised their prince. Men and women called his name aloud. Girls squealed. Babies burst out crying.

            Rufus raised a hand to shade his eyes, running his gaze along the fence. “How many of them do you think there are?” he asked his bodyguard, Hunter.

            “At least five thousand, I’d say, sir.”

            “Where have they all come from?”

            “Probably from all over the world. Are you surprised, sir? I’m surprised there aren’t even more. The launch of the first man into space isn’t something you see every day.”

            “Hmmph.” Rufus lowered his hand to his shoulder and moved it in an approximation of a wave. The distant throng roared enthusiastically. Rufus went back into the marquee.

            Almost at once beads of sweat began to form on his brow. It was too stuffy in here: the sun was beating down through the canvas, and the air was thick with the smells of cheese and wine, perspiring humanity, aftershave, powder and perfume.  People shouted at each other over the din of competing conversations. The crowd was thickest around the buffet table, where a spit-roasted sucking pig with an apple in its mouth, a poached dolphin in dill sauce, and a whole cold baked chocobo formed the triple centerpiece and talking-point. The chocobo in particular was a masterpiece of the culinary arts: the chefs had painstakingly re-attached each of its yellow feathers, and had arched its neck in a coyly lifelike pose. Two large stuffed onions were now its eyes. Rufus contemplated the object for a moment with mild distaste, then turned to look around the tent.

            “Where’s Tseng?” he asked Hunter.

            Waitresses in short black skirts were passing among the guests, carrying frosted champagne cocktails on silver trays.  One came up to Rufus with an inquiring smile. He shook his head. She glanced past him at Hunter.

            “She’s working.” Rufus waved the waitress away.

            “There he is, sir,” said Hunter, pointing across the sea of bobbing heads to the opposite side of the marquee, where Tseng was standing with their rookie, the whey-faced, cinnamon-haired Tys, failed motorbike thief and ex-gang leader, now suit-clad Shinra salary man.

            At this moment Tys was the distinct object of Hunter’s envy.  Not only did he get to run about in the fresh air hobnobbing with Cid Highwind and the rocket technicians, while she was stuck dogging the V.P.’s footsteps, but he’d made himself something of a local hero yesterday during the rehearsals, when someone had attempted to steal the Tiny Bronco. While Cid spat rage and Tseng hesitated, Tys had given chase, sprinting after the stolen plane as it taxied along the grass, grabbing hold of the wing struts at the moment of take off, climbing onto the wing as it rose into the air, clambering into the cockpit at five hundred feet, and knocking the thief unconscious with a kick. Seating himself at the controls, he’d put on the headphones, picked up the radio transmitter, and laughed, “Look at me, man! I’ve never flown a plane before!”

            “What?” Cid had almost wept into the mike. “You so much as put a scratch on my baby, you goddamn sonofabitch, I’ll have your fucking testicles on a fucking plate. Now you listen to me and do exactly what I say….”

            Talked down by Cid, Tys had landed the plane safely, and since then had been able to talk of nothing else but his moment of glory. Now, inside the hot and crowded marquee, he stood fidgeting at Tseng’s side, trying to do what he had been told to do: be quiet, watch, and listen.  Over on the far side of the marquee Commander Veld was multi-tasking, remaining tight by the President’s side as they moved through the throng while keeping up a steady flow of communication with his subordinates through their wireless earpieces. This device was not something Tseng much cared for. He disliked the sensation of having a hard lump of plastic hooked into his ear, hampering his ability to hear what was going on around him. But it had its advantages. It did leave both one’s hands free –

            “Oh man, dude,” Tys sighed, “I wish Reno could have been there to see me…”

            The rookie’s admiration for the Turk who’d nearly killed him had been growing to the point where it bordered almost on hero-worship, a development that Tseng viewed as both inevitable and regrettable. It was natural that boys like Tys should respond to the authority of violence.  Commander Veld had his measure: with every beating Tys became more motivated, more obedient, more enthusiastic about the work. But the last thing Reno needed was somebody hanging around him who thought he could do no wrong.  And the last thing the department needed was another Reno. Tseng had had to remind Tys three times already today to tuck in his shirt and straighten his tie.

            “Don’t address me like that,” he rebuked the rookie now. “You’ve been with us nine months. There’s no excuse.”

            “Sorry, sir,” Tys mumbled.

            “You did a good job yesterday, but don’t get carried away.  This assignment isn’t over. Stay focused. Go down and check in with Rude, and then take a walk around the inner perimeter of the launch site. Watch for anything suspicious. Keep your eyes open.”

            “Roger, sir,” said Tys, eagerly running off. 

            Who the plane-jacker had been, and what his motives were, they would never know:  the kick from Tys’ boot had caved in his skull, and he’d died without regaining consciousness.  His heavy, homely features had made it clear that he was human, not a Genesis copy or a Raven. So - had he been a mere opportunistic thief, working alone? Or a man with an agenda to fulfil, and an organization behind him? Late yesterday afternoon one of the chief rocket engineers had come to Cid Highwind with the news that an oxygen tank had been tampered with. Were the two incidents connected? Whoever had attempted to sabotage the tank knew very little about rockets: the engineer had easily replaced the damaged tank with a spare, and the launch was scheduled to go ahead as planned in about – Tseng checked his watch – ninety minutes.

            “ _Another quarter of an hour,_ ” came the Commander’s voice through his earpiece. _“Then we’ll start moving them into the stands.”_

“Roger,” Tseng replied, continuing his quiet observation of the crowd.

            President Shinra was impossible to lose sight of, strutting amongst his guests like a rooster in a barnyard. The other executives were scattered around the marquee. Heidegger in his green uniform had cornered a pretty little girl by the bar; Scarlet, wearing her trademark red, was chatting easily to a group of young men with military haircuts; Reeve was moving smoothly from group to group; Palmer, unmissable in yellow, a custard doughnut, was standing by the buffet, talking to the Headmaster of the Military Academy.

            The invitation had clearly stated ‘morning dress’, and many of the male guests had obediently donned the obligatory charcoal tails, dove-grey waistcoats, and pin-striped trousers, their chins propped uncomfortably on high starched collars. Some, lacking the requisite social nous, had come in double-breasted yachting blazers and brown leather loafers and were now trying to brazen out their fashion faux pas. The women and girls were dressed as if for a wedding, flouncing pastel layers of gossamer silk; big picture hats framed painted faces; diamonds glittered everywhere.

            Tseng knew every single one of them, by face, by name, by the catalogue of their vices – a tedious and repetitive volume.

            He saw that Rufus was making his way over, with Hunter following close behind. The boy was wearing his usual layers of black and white, and he’d done his hair differently today, combing the long uneven fringe back from his brow, leaving only a few strands to fall forward over his left eye. His progress through the crowd was slow: people pressed in on him from all sides, and every few steps he was buttonholed, sometimes by a man’s sycophantic greeting, sometimes by a girl’s seductive smile. The boy made no effort to be charming. His handshakes were brief, his smiles perfunctory, but nothing could cool the ardour of his admirers. Again and again Hunter had to come forward to insist they let Rufus move on.

            A woman stepped into Tseng’s field of vision, temporarily blocking the Vice-President from his view.  She was his own age, or perhaps a little older, and expensively beautiful.  Blond hair, red lips, nipped-in waist, feet arched in six-inch satin heels… Of course he recognised her, though, in a sense, she was merely a single cell, one of many, all alike, her name a known but insignificant detail, her connections to the other cells in this corpus delicti, the Midgar body politic, held in his memory like a map overlaid upon a dozen identical maps simultaneously present in his mind.  

            She smiled at him. Smiling back, however, was not something he was paid to do. She pouted a little; then, opening her purse, she took out a little folded piece of paper, moved closer  – so close he could smell the scent of shampoo in her hair – and smoothly, swiftly, put her fingers on the zip of his jacket, pulled it down a little way, ran her hand inside, and slid the paper into his breast pocket.

            “Call me,” she murmured, walking away.

             His first instinct was to glance around to see if anyone had noticed. Commander Veld was looking his way, one eyebrow cocked knowingly. Through the earpiece Tseng could hear him chuckling to himself. He’d heard her invitation, of course.

            Such advances were a regular occupational hazard. This particular woman did not tempt Tseng, though in the past he’d received offers that were… intriguing. And when he was younger - much younger, more curious, less self-controlled, and very naïve - he’d sometimes said yes. But the encounters had always left him feeling sullied… No. _Used._ These jaded men and women were merely satisfying their own curiosity about what lay under the suit; about what went on behind his face. They asked intrusive questions. Quite often, they’d asked him to hurt them, and more and more he’d found it gave him pleasure to oblige. When he realized this, and saw what these people were doing to him - what they thought of him - his soul, that ribbon of steel that Veld had beaten so fine, recoiled.

            If professional services were what they were after, then let them go to one of the many private agencies in town that specialized in such things, and put their money down like honest folk. He, Tseng, was not a cheap toy for the amusement of the President’s cronies and their wives. He was not a panhandling refugee. He was not a friendless orphan. He was a Turk: he was Shinra.

            He left the folded paper where it was, for the time being. Later he would throw it away.

            Rufus had now reached his side. Hunter, a step behind him, was scowling irritably.  “I’ll stay with the Vice-President,” Tseng told her. “Go check the stand, and link up with Mink there. We’ll be coming along shortly.”

            “Roger, sir. Anything to get out of this tent,” she muttered, hastening away.

            “Did Madeleine Fortescue just try to pick you up?” Rufus asked Tseng.

            “Possibly.”

            “Hmmph,” said Rufus, glancing from side to side.  

            The boy was very tense. His impatience, his restlessness, had been growing more pronounced these last months – as if the time had already gone past when the thing he had been waiting for so long, whatever it was, should have arrived.

            “God,” Rufus groaned, “Doesn’t he ever stop?”

            He meant his father. Tseng turned to look, and for a few moments the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the President as he continued to make the rounds of his guests. The Old Man knew how to work a crowd. Seeing a hand stretched out to him, he would seize it in a firm clasp, pump it energetically, smile into the owner’s eyes and, if it was man, clap him on the back, giving the impression that this very chap was the one above all others whom he’d longed to see.  If it was a woman – young or old, plain or pretty – the old ham’s blue eyes twinkled flirtatiously as he offered her some outrageous compliment.

            “What a whore he is,” Rufus sighed.

            “Don’t talk about your father like that.”

            “Why not? It’s true.” Rufus turned his head to catch and hold Tseng’s gaze. “He’s an embarrassment. I mean, look at him – “

            But Tseng could not look at the President. His eyes were too busy taking Rufus in. _The boy’s taller than me_ , he realized with a little shock of surprise. _By several inches. When did that happen?_

            Rufus was still talking. “Seriously, Tseng, why does he have to keep pimping himself like that? Anyone would think these people were our shareholders. When is he going to realize that their opinions don’t matter? We’ve moved beyond that. Public opinion is not what’s holding us back now. _His fear_ of public opinion is the biggest obstacle we face…”

            It wasn’t just the boy’s physical presence that had matured. His voice had grown deeper, and leveled off into its adult timbre: a low, silky tenor with an evenness of modulation that was almost hypnotic.

            “…Such a waste of money, Tseng. Half the time he’s trying to buy their favour with empty spectacles like this pointless rocket launch, and the rest of the time he’s spending a fortune covering up things that don’t need to be covered up. If the public doesn’t like our business methods, then they can lump it. At the end of the day, they still have to switch their lights on.  But he never thinks anything through logically. He’s like a little child jumping from one pet project to the next. Look at SOLDIER. We threw a fortune at that – thirty years of investment, and now what have we got to show for it? Angeal, Sephiroth, Genesis, Zack, all dead or as good as; hardly a First Class left. Not quite the super-soldiers we had in mind…”

            Rufus rarely raised his voice. He was doing so now. It was if he couldn’t help himself; something had pushed him too far -

             “…And what about that stupid cannon in Junon? How much did _that_ cost? And what is the _point_ of it?  And don’t say Wutai; that was just the excuse. It serves no purpose. I cannot imagine any use we could ever have for it. He built it just because he could. He has no sense of proportion. It’s all big gestures with him. There’s no strategizing – “

            “Rufus, stop. People can hear you.”

            Rufus did pause, but only long enough to draw a deep breath. In an undertone meant for Tseng’s ear alone, he hissed, “It’s so frustrating. He’s had his turn. Why can’t he just _die?_ ”

            “You can’t say things like that. Not here. Not in public. Not to me. Or anyone.”

            “Do you honestly think I say these things to anyone _other_ than you? You’re the only one who understands. _You_ know what it feels like. How old are you now? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? When Lazard was your age he was running SOLDIER. Reeve was head of Urban Planning before he was thirty. Veld was in charge of your department by the time he was twenty-five. But you – you’re still Veld’s boy. And as long as he’s around that’s all you’ll ever be.”

            Tseng exclaimed, “You can’t compare – “ and then bit back the rest of his angry retort, for Reeve Tuesti now came up to them, champagne glass in hand.

            “Tseng, Rufus, what’s up?” He looked from one of them to the other. “An argument?

            “A difference of opinion,” said Rufus. “Turks sometimes have opinions, apparently.”

            “Ah,” Reeve smiled blandly. “Dangerous things, opinions.”

            Always the most elegant of the executives, Reeve was dressed today in a morning coat of fine bluish-black wool, cut away to reveal a slate-grey, silk-embroidered waistcoat. Against these subtle dark hues, his crisp cotton shirt was so purely white it almost hurt. He’d loosened his bow tie and undone his top button. A film of sweat glistened on his brow. “It’s too hot in here,” he said. “Everyone’s getting a little punch drunk with the food and the champagne and the heat. When’s the launch, Tseng?”

            “We should be moving into the viewing stands any moment now, sir.”

            Rufus said, “Have you seen the crowds outside, Reeve? Beyond the fence? There’s thousands of them.”

            “Well… I suppose that was to be expected.”

            “But was it expected? Has Palmer made any arrangements for them? Did anyone? What about water? Shelter?”

            “They would bring their own, wouldn’t they?”

            Rufus grimaced impatiently. “Latrines? Did anyone think about those? When you have five thousand people gathered together like that and no proper waste disposal, do you know what you end up with? An epidemic. Wouldn’t that make a glorious note on which to end this fiasco? The whole thing’s got completely out of hand. We ought to cancel it and send them home. There’s still time.”

            “Why would we want to do that?” Reeve asked him. “After all the money we’ve spent?”

            “Because if anything goes wrong, we will look ridiculous. Not to mention incompetent. It’s not worth the risk. We could cancel it on safety grounds. Call it a temporary delay – “

            “What safety grounds? Cid Highwind said everything is good to go.”

            “Of course he did. He’s completely moonstruck. He told me yesterday he’d rather die than lose his chance to be the first man in space. That doesn’t sound to me like someone who is taking every available precaution.”

            Reeve laughed. “Well, no. Admittedly. But it does sound like Cid.”

            “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough,” Rufus frowned. “The money’s already been thrown away. The risk is huge. The benefits are negligible. Even if the launch is a success, what do we gain? Cid Highwind orbits the planet a couple of times, big deal – “

            “It’s a big deal to him.”

            Rufus made an exasperated sound. “Since when has the realization of some pilot’s pipe-dream been the goal of our space program? Really, it’s absurd the way we pander to these people.”

            “What people?” asked the President, walking into the middle of their conversation.

            “Employees,” said Rufus.

            “Got to keep them happy,” smiled the Old Man. “Backbone of the company. Can’t get any work done without them.”

            “They don’t need to be happy,” said Rufus. “They just need to be hungry. And you don’t care if they’re happy. Why do you have to pretend all the time? You’re not fooling anybody. Except maybe yourself.”

            “My lad – “ The President reached up to put an arm around his son’s neck, and hugged tight – a little too tight. “When I was your age, I thought I knew everything, too. But I was just a smartarse like you.”

            “I’d rather be a smartarse than a hypocrite,” said Rufus, as he struggled to free himself from his father’s grip.

            “Sir,” said Commander Veld, coming up beside them, “It’s time.”

*** *** ***

            There were speeches. There was the Military Academy’s Marching Band. There was a disciplined cohort of schoolgirls in pigtails and tunics, scattering rose-petals from baskets and singing a song about starlight and destiny. There were bouquets to be presented, thanks to be proclaimed. There was, finally, a ceremonial ribbon to be cut. Through it all Tseng stood at the back of the Presidential box, watching Rufus interact with the girl seated next to him and contemplating the challenge that he presented.

            The chairs in the box were gilded, upholstered with purple leather. In the chair beside Rufus sat one of the current crop of LOVELESS starlets, a raven-haired, blue-eyed girl of such startling loveliness that even Tseng had momentarily forgotten he was working and stopped to stare. Undoubtedly she had been hand-picked by the President, and put there with orders to charm his son. She was doing her best, but she wasn’t getting much in return.

            Almost two years ago the Old Man had instructed them, _I want to know who’s in his bed. He’s young. He’s vulnerable. I need names. Dates. Profiles._

In Rufus’ mid-adolescence there had been the usual experimental fumblings: a girl in a back-bedroom at one party, a boy in the coat cupboard at another…  Though Rufus had never initiated any of these encounters.  Tseng supposed that was only natural.  The Prince of the Shinra Empire was not someone who wooed, or gave chase, or had to ask.  He simply waited, secure in the knowledge that all good things would come to him eventually, of their own free will.

            All the same… Rufus was eighteen years old now, and as far as Tseng knew he had never had a serious relationship.  Given the opportunities open to him, the file on his love-life was suspiciously thin. There had been a few short-lived, casual hook-ups with suitable girls of his class; these were usually carried out so publicly – vanishing together into chalet bedrooms during snow-boarding weekends, for example – that Tseng suspected they were done for the benefit of those whose job it was to watch him and report back. He never brought girls – or any guests – to his suite in the building; they would have had to pass through security vetting first.  Nor was there any evidence that he visited prostitutes.

            In fact, Rufus seemed (or possibly, thought Tseng, deliberately made it look as if he seemed) to have little interest in sex. Skeeter and Hunter, his two principle bodyguards, had been instructed by Veld to make themselves available to him, should he show himself so inclined. They were handsome young people, physically attractive. Rufus hadn’t even sniffed at the bait.

            Of course, lack of evidence was not, in itself, evidence of lack. Rufus knew he was being watched. He knew that any relationships he might form would be of intense interest to his father, and that if his father should happen to disapprove, interference would be inevitable.

            Tseng thought of Lazard, who had hidden behind Zack; and of how Cissnei had hidden behind Lazard. But not from Reno’s sharp eyes. And then he remembered Reno saying once, years ago, _but boss, the poor little buttoned-up shit! I felt sorry for him…._

Rufus enjoyed more freedom of movement now that he was older. The Turks could not watch him all the time. Did he wait for those moments, slipping through the cracks in their vigilance to briefly enjoy something approximating a life? For his sake, Tseng rather hoped so.

            The boy certainly had his Old Man in a stew. _Damn it, Veld, it’s not natural! At his age I was at it every chance I got. Damned pup doesn’t know how lucky he is, all those pretty girls throwing themselves at him. You don’t think he’s a pansy, do you?_

            The starlet was pulling out all the stops now, gesturing delicately with her slender hands as she chattered away, batting her eyelashes and giggling. Rufus seemed to be listening, though his expression, seen in profile, never altered. It was uphill work for the poor girl.  Discouraged, she fell silent, and glanced around as if hoping for help.

            Rufus turned his head to look over his shoulder at Tseng.

            There was a message in his eyes, but Tseng could not decipher it.

            “Commencing countdown,” crackled a voice from the loudspeakers. “Ten, nine…”

            Rufus took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.

            “…Six, five….”

            Tseng put on his own sunglasses. Everyone in the stands had done the same.

            “…Two…”

            Rufus turned back to face the rocket.

            “Ignition – “

            Flames erupted from the base of the rocket. A split second later, the roar of the engines hit their ears, and a second after that, the heat from the blast gusted into their faces.  The air liquified: colours ran together, shapes melted. The rocket shuddered violently, and lifted itself into the air.

            Suddenly the noise died, as if the engines had stalled.

            The rocket trembled in the air for a moment, then sank back to earth. Almost immediately it began to yaw to starboard, and Tseng was sure it would fall – but it fell against one of the launch towers, and though the tower groaned, it held.  With a grinding of metal against metal, the rocket settled into the soft hot ground, tilted at an angle like a child’s toy thrown down and abandoned in the midst of play.

*** *** *** *** ***

 _  
Extract from the minutes of the Shinra Electric Company Board of Directors meeting, 15th April 2002.   
_

_Present: President Shinra, Vice-President Rufus, Heidegger, Scarlet, Palmer, Tuesti, Hojo, Veld_

 _  
Item 1.1   
_

_Vice-President Rufus proposed that the Shinra space program be suspended with immediate effect. Tuesti seconded motion. Motion passed nem con, one abstention. President accepted motion…._

 _  
…Item 2.3   
_

_Palmer moved that Captain Cid Highwind face official censure over his flagrant disregard for safety procedures and for negligence in failing to ensure that the Shinra 26 was launchworthy. Motion failed due to lack of a second…._

Tseng was outside, standing against the wall to the right of the boardroom door, waiting for the Commander. He saw Rufus come out first, accompanied by Reeve and Heidegger. Rufus did not glance his way, but walked off down the corridor toward the executive elevator, with the Director of Public Safety Maintenance on his left and the Director of Urban Planning on his right talking at each other across him.

            Scarlet came next, the colour high in her cheeks; Palmer followed, his fat little legs scurrying to catch up with her. Hojo stalked out soon afterwards, hands clasped behind his back, walking like a stilted heron hunting for frogs to spear with its beak.

            Tseng kept waiting.

            Finally, Veld emerged.

            Tseng was shocked by his appearance. Deep lines ran down either side of his mouth. The scar on his cheek was shiny, puckered. His eyelids had reddened; his eyelashes had grown sparse.  His hair, though still thick, was almost completely grey. But how was it possible he could have grown so much older in two hours?

            _Fool!_ Tseng rebuked himself. _He’s been looking like this for months. Years. And now you notice? He carries us all on his shoulders. You could do more to help him, instead of thinking about yourself all the time –_

Gazing down the corridor in the direction Rufus had gone, Veld heaved a weary sigh.

            “Sir?” said Tseng.

            “Oh, Tseng – there you are. I didn’t see you.”

            The Commander put his real hand on Tseng’s shoulder and let it rest there for a moment; and maybe it was only Tseng’s imagination, but it did not seem as heavy as it once had been.

            Tseng asked, “Is everything all right?”

            Veld’s smile only emphasised the tiredness in his eyes. He said, “My cloud of dignity is held from falling with so weak a wind that it will soon drop.”

            He spoke the nonsensical words dreamily, as if half-asleep, or lost in thought – unlike himself, at any rate.

             “That sounds like Loveless, sir. What does it mean?”

            “It means the wind is changing. It feels too soon, but I suppose it’s been a lifetime already. Who would have thought this Turk would live to be so old?”

            “You’re not old, sir.”

            Veld laughed at that, and gave his subordinate an amused look, as if to say, _we both know you’re lying, but thank you._

            “Did something happen in there?” Tseng asked him.

            “Nothing out of the ordinary. The usual boardroom games. Rufus is making a power play. He’s squeezing every inch of mileage out of the rocket failure.” Veld shut his eyes for a moment, then chuckled. “What unreasonable old codgers we are.  We teach you to walk, and then we complain when you outrun us. Still….” He patted Tseng’s shoulder, “The change won’t come overnight. Plenty of work yet for an old Turk to do. Come on, my boy. Shoulder to the wheel, eh? We’ll go to my office, and I’ll fill you in on all the details...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veld's odd quote is obviously not from Loveless. Who wrote it, and which work is it from?


	3. Us and Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aviva makes a resolution, Barret helps Reno, and Rufus shows his hand.

Pages from Aviva's Diary:

May 8th, 2003

Today when I was bodyguarding the President at a function, he did something that shocked me. He set a thousand gil note on fire and used it to light his cigar. Like it was just a piece of scrap paper. Probably that shows how naïve I still am.  No one else seemed bothered by it.

            I guess people who have everything have money to burn.

            I’ve just realized something, Diary. She was like that. Cissnei.  But not with money. With love…

.

May 29th, 2003

I think we both knew from the start that it wasn’t going to work out with Louis, didn’t we, Diary?  I cringed every time he tried to touch me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I just couldn’t help myself. I felt so bad for him. I tried to explain that it wasn’t him, that it was me, but I don’t think he believed me. Who’s going to believe that a Turk is too petrified to let a guy come anywhere near her?

            And anyway, it’s not the whole truth, is it? Louis was such a nice guy. But he was the wrong guy.

            Which is really quite ironic when you think about it, because any girl with half a brain cell can see that R is the wrongest of wrong guys in every possible way.  What is it about him? He isn’t even all that good-looking. Maybe out of all of them Rude’s the closest to what you’d call classically tall, dark and handsome. But R…. He’s as skinny as a filleted fish, and he’s kind of slouchy and slinky, and his lips are thin, and his eyes are so hard you can’t see inside them. But when I least expect it, he’ll suddenly walk in, and he looks so beautiful to me that my heart stands still, and I could go on looking at him forever…

.

May 30th, 2003

            I have got to stop pretending. The real reason it didn’t work out with Louis is because I am totally screwed up.  Too much of what I might have had to give a lover was taken from me too young, and maybe that’s not my fault, but it’s still my problem and I have to deal with it. So I’ve come to a decision, Diary. No more dating for me.  I’m going to stop saying Yes when inside I’m screaming No! No! Keep away!   I’ve got to get over this knee-jerk compulsion to please. I don’t owe anybody anything just for treating me nice. The little Aviva inside of me is still scared of what will happen if she isn’t nice to people who are nice to her – but I know what old Charlie would say to that girl. You owe yourself some self-respect, kiddo.

1.10 am:

I was lying in bed just now, thinking, and I suddenly thought maybe the reason I’m so fixated on R is because it’s completely and utterly impossible that he would ever notice me in that way or be interested in me. So he’s safe. As long as I keep telling myself I’m love with a man who’s never going to love me back, I don’t have to face the fact that I’m actually incapable of having a real relationship. I can worship him from afar forever without running the risk of my fantasies being shattered.

            I’m not a child any more. I’m eighteen years old. I should act like it.  I can’t keep using R as my crutch. I have got to stop mooning over him. It’s just ridiculous.

.

_June 18 th, 2003_

Resolution update: mission not accomplished.

            Will keep trying. Turks don’t fail.

.           

_July 5 th, 2003_

Big drama in the office today. It started with R’s phone ringing. I didn’t pay much attention until I heard him say, “Who the **** gave you this number?” We all looked up then, and Hunter got up and made to leave the room.   R said into his phone, “Can’t you take a hint? If I didn’t call it’s because I didn’t want to. Now get off the ****ing line, it’s for business.” And then he hung up and he yelled, “Honey!”  because she was sneaking off all guilty-like.  She started running but he caught her and held her by her ponytail, and he was really pissed off and shouted at her, “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” and she said, “I’m sick of the way you treat the women in this building. I think it’s time you answered to _someone_ –“ and he shouted “Who the **** do you think you are to interfere with my ****ing private life, you stuck-up brat?” and then Rude came and put himself between them.  And Hunter shouted at R from behind Rude’s back, “You better watch out karma doesn’t come around and bite your skinny arse,” and R said, “It can suck my ***ing **** for all I care and I hope it likes the taste.”  Naturally all the guys cracked up at that. Even Rude grinned.

            And then the door to the stairway opened and this blonde girl comes running in, looking kind of crazed, and I remembered seeing her at a party about a week ago. I left early. She works in Accounts, I think. So anyway, she sees R and she goes at him, and she yells, “You don’t hang up on me like that you ****ing bastard. You owe me an explanation. You might at least have had the decency to call me.”

            And he says, “Get the **** out of here.”

            And Hunter says, “Why do you have to be such an ****head?”

            And R says, “She hasn’t got security clearance, she needs to get the **** off our floor.”

            And this blond girl is crying because she’s so angry, and she says, “You can’t treat me like this. What do you think I am? You think I’d do those things with just anyone?”

            “How the hell would I know?” he says. “I don’t even know your name.”

            That sent her over the edge. She starts screaming, “It’s Beatrice! Beatrice! You _know_ that!”

             And he’s all “OK, whatever” and he says, “Look, Beatrice, you’re reading way too much into this thing. The fact is, it was getting late, and I felt like getting laid, and I wasn’t feeling too choosy.”

            So Beatrice starts wheezing like she’s having an asthma attack, and she picks up the nearest thing, which was a hole punch, and she threw it at him. He ducked. It broke the glass on the company logo that was hanging behind him. Cavs and Tys were laughing so hard they sounded like they were going to be sick. But Rude wasn’t. He was trying to grab Beatrice’s arm to stop her throwing things.

            And then Mr Tseng came out of his office, with his “what’s going on here” and “what’s all this noise”?  But how could we say anything when she was standing right there sobbing her heart out?  Anyway he didn’t need us to tell him: he took a good look and he got the picture.  So he tells Hunter to take her back where she belongs, and then he tears a strip off R and says he gives the department a bad name when he does things like this, and R says, “get real, Boss, I’m just living up to their expectations” and then Mr Tseng took him into his office, and none of us know what they said, even though Tys went and put his ear to the door. A while later R came out looking like he wouldn’t mind killing somebody, probably Hunter. He went out. I haven’t seen him again today…

.

_July 8 th, 2003_

            I can’t stop thinking about that girl, Reno's hook-up. Beatrice. It’s like I know I ought to feel sorry for her, but I just can’t find it in me. What was she thinking?  There’s no way she didn’t know what she was letting herself in for when she hooked up with him. There can’t be anyone left in the entire building that doesn’t know his reputation. Probably the whole of Midgar knows. Plate and slums.

            I really have a hard time understanding these girls who throw themselves at him.  Do they like being treated like dirt? I guess maybe some of them do. Human beings can be very strange. But I think some of them believe that somehow they can change him.  We all like to think we’re unique and special, don’t we? They probably believe that with them everything is going to be different.

            But I do feel sorry for them, and do you know why? Because they’ll never really know him. They bring out the worst side of him, so that’s all they see. I know he can be a bastard, Diary, but he’s never been a bastard to me. I know the real him.  I know I can trust him with my life. I’m his partner. His sidekick, too, for a lot of the time. And sometimes, when he’s happy about the way a mission’s gone or he’s pleased with my performance, I’m his pal. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.  

            So I guess I should be thankful he doesn’t see me as a girl, chick, babe, whatever.  God only knows how the department would continue to function if the guys remembered we are women.

            You know what, Diary? I think that’s the real reason he was so furious with Hunter.  It’s Us and Them, and she sided with Them…

 

 *** *** ***

At 8.55 am on Tuesday, the eighth of May, Reno was sitting at the surveillance bank in the secret room on the floor between floors. Though he was, technically speaking, upright, to describe what he was doing as _work_ would be to stretch a point. He was, in fact, enjoying a catnap, feet up on the console,  body sunk deep in the leather chair. A string of late nights had finally taken their toll.

            Above him the wall-sized monitor formed a matrix of twenty-five individual colour images, each relaying a view from one of the CCTV security cameras on the lowest levels of the Shinra building. Garbage disposal - basement garage - boiler room – switch room - janitorial supplies…. Every thirty seconds the images dissolved, to be replaced by new scenes one floor up. In just over an hour the program could scroll through the entire building. It was not Reno’s job, or any Turk’s job, to watch it constantly; the guards in the security room off the lobby had their own monitors for that. But when the Turks were not using their wide screen for any other purpose, they kept the surveillance cameras running constantly in the background.

            To Reno’s left stood a double row of free-standing monitors, one for the each of the company’s mako reactors: the eight in Midgar; the Shinra Number One on Mt Nibel, now repaired and fully operational; the defunct Gongaga reactor; the underwater reactor at Junon; the reactor at Fort Condor; and the construction site at Corel. New security measures had been put in place after the Nibelheim incident: all authorised reactor workers had been implanted with chips in the back of their hands that were automatically scanned whenever they passed designated points in the building.  Any motion picked up by the sensors that failed to pass the scan would trigger a remote alarm here in the Turks’ control room, as well as an immediate attack by the on-site defense robots.

            The beauty of this system, and the feature which made it a significant improvement over the security cards used on the trains, was that the chips had so far proved impossible to forge - as a ring of rogue technicians in Junon had recently learnt to their cost.  The four who’d survived the initial bust had been publicly executed only last week: justice performed live on TV. Kind of a new departure, Reno had thought at the time.  The usual Shinra style was to brush the dirt under the carpet, spray round a can of air freshener, and put out a big vase of flowers to hide the stain. According to Cavour, who said he’d heard it from one of Reeve Tuesti’s secretaries, the whole execution thing, and the publicity surrounding it, had been Rufus Shinra’s idea -

            The alarm went off in Reno’s ear, jerking him back to full consciousness. Disoriented, he kicked out. The chair rolled backwards; Reno tumbled to the floor, arms and legs flailing, while the alarm kept ringing, painfully loud.  Half-fogged with sleep, Reno got to his feet, squinting at the monitors to see which one was the source of the problem.

            There. Corel. The half-built reactor.

            On the monitor five dark silhouettes could be seen moving along a metal catwalk suspended above the glow of the mako pit. The one bringing up the rear stopped, turned, raised their eyes, and for a moment seemed to be gazing straight at Reno. His gut twisted. Those blue goggles and pie-shaped headgear were unmistakable.

            The cancer had returned.  

            The Avalanche operative – he, she – aimed their gun and fired. The screen went blank. Cursing copiously, Reno began flipping through the feeds from the other Corel cameras. Nothing – nothing – nothing – Were those five _it_? – Nothing – Wait, there! Yes, that was the woman, Elfe, talking to some of her underlings. Not many, though. A dozen. And there was that big fucker Shears. Reno still had a score to settle with him.

            He couldn’t see Fuhito, but he’d have taken a bet the scrawny geek was somewhere close by. Charlie had said all along he was afraid the AVALANCHE leaders weren’t dead – which was pretty honest of him, considering it had been his job to get rid of them.

             Reno pulled out his phone.

            “Boss, whatever you’re doing, drop it and get in here. There’s something you’ll want to see.”

.

  
09.42 am

A sharp wind whipped across the roof of the Shinra Building. Three helicopters had been scrambled and were hovering, waiting.  Tseng projected his voice. “Tys, you’ll come with me. Mink, Hunter, go with Rude. Skeeter, you go with Reno. Where’s Aviva?”

            “On her way,” said Rude.

            Aviva at that moment was pelting up the stairs, ignoring the ache in her thighbone. She’d been in the canteen eating a late breakfast when she got Tseng’s call. The first elevator had been full; the second had taken too long to come. So she’d run. Her knives rattled in their holsters. Breathlessly she burst through the door on the top landing. From here she could see down the corridor and out onto the roof. They were all waiting for _her_.

            “What’s happening?” said a silky voice behind her.

            _Omigosh_ , she thought _, it’s the Vice-President!_ “Mr Rufus, sir! I didn’t see you there!”

            “Something’s going on. What is it?”

            _He’s so good-looking… Girl! Get a grip! _

“I asked you a question, Turk.”

            “It’s AVALANCHE, sir. They’ve invaded the Corel reactor. I’m sorry, sir, but I have to go, I’m holding everyone up – “

            “Go,” he waved a hand.

            She dashed away onto the rooftop. “There you are,” Tseng shouted. “Go with Reno.  We’ll rendezvous at the north entrance to the coal mines. Rude, Reno, have you got the coordinates?”

            “Check.”

            “All right, let’s go.”

            Tseng’s helicopter was the last to leave. He was just preparing to take off when his phone rang.

            “It’s me,” said Veld. “I’m down in the surveillance room. I’ll coordinate your movements. Oh, and Tseng – if Rufus calls you, tell him nothing.”

            “Understood.”

            Because knowledge was power, and the Old Man was hanging on to his like grim death.

.

  
10.56 am

The door to the Turks’ secret surveillance room hissed open. Commander Veld looked up from the monitor and saw President Shinra come staggering in, breathing heavily, one fist pressed to his heart. For a moment Veld thought the Old Man must have been shot. But there was no blood.

            “Piet – Rufus has gone.”

            “What?” Veld stood up. “How did he find out?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “But how did he leave?”

            “He took a helicopter.”

            “But they’re under strict instructions – “

            “He drew a gun on them.” The Old Man pulled a hand down his face. His knees were trembling. “Sit,” said Veld, steering him to a chair.

            The Old Man collapsed and took a shuddering breath. “He was doing – so well, too.  Don’t you think? Chip off the old block. Have you seen the way he’s got Heidegger eating out of his hand….”

            “I’ve seen.”

            “Damned whippersnapper. I was starting to enjoy the board meetings again. Like pitting my wits against my own younger self.  And now this. Fool. Fool!”

            “I’ll let Tseng know – “

            “No! You have to go after him. If you leave now and go straight to the reactor you can find him before they do. Stop him from doing anything stupid.”

            Veld only hesitated a moment. “All right.”

            “Do whatever it takes,” said the President. “Tell the Turks if you have to. Rufus is all I have left. I don’t care about anything else. Please, Piet.” He grabbed hold of Veld’s hand and held on to it tightly. “We can rebuild reactors. Just bring my child home. That’s all that matters now.”

            Veld gave Old Man’s hand a long squeeze. “I know,” he said. “My old friend, I know.”

.

  
12.57 pm

The other Turks had been waiting on the ground for almost a quarter of an hour before Tseng’s helicopter came in to land.  In that time a small crowd of ragged children had gathered like hungry birds, watching them from a short distance away.

            “We’ll need someone to guard the helicopters,” said Tseng. “I don’t want to get back here and find them stripped. Hunter, you’ll stay.”

            “Oh, sir, that’s not fair – “

            Tseng ignored her protests. “Right, the rest of you. We’re going to split up and come at them from all four sides. Tys, you’re with Mink. Aviva, you’re with Reno. Skeeter, you’re with Rude. I’ll go alone. We’re going in through the mines. The Commander’s sent a map to each of your phones and marked your routes. When in doubt, use your compasses and keep a south-westerly course. Call me when you reach your contact point. This is still a working mine, so make sure you don’t alarm the miners. If anyone asks, we’re on a routine inspection. Got that?”

            “Roger,” they chorused.

            “Then let’s go.”

.

  
14.04 pm

            “Reno,” said Aviva, “Are we lost?”

            He didn’t want to admit it.  “I think it’s this way.” He pointed at the mouth of the right-hand tunnel.  “I think I can smell the mako.”

            “This map is useless,” she sighed.

            “It must be pretty old,” he agreed.

            “What does the compass say?”

            “That way.” He pointed down the left-hand tunnel.

            “Maybe we should ask someone.”

            He shook his head vigorously. “No asking. Just give me a moment and I’ll work it out.”

            “But at this rate we’ll never get to the reactor -”

            “Ssh,” said Reno. “Listen.”

            Footsteps were coming down the right-hand tunnel, growing louder.  Reno and Aviva switched off their torches and moved apart, pressing themselves into the shadows.  She put a hand on her knife belt. He drew his rod.

            A beam of light shone out of the tunnel. As the footsteps came closer, the beam grew brighter, and in a few moments a tall, burly man appeared, wearing a miner’s lamp on his head. He was stripped to the waist, body glistening with sweat. In the dimness it was impossible to tell whether his skin was dark by nature or from coal dust. Over one shoulder he carried a pick.  The backwash of light carved his face into strange hollows and angles, like a mask, and in that mask the whites of his eyes were shining.

            Aviva sneezed.

            He turned the lamp on them, dazzling their eyes. “Hey, you kids – what you doin’ in here? Damn fool place to go canoodling! C’mon, get over here where I c’n see you.”

            Reno had already put his rod away. Aviva let her hand drop from the knives.

            “We could ask him,” she said to Reno.

            “Hey, I’ll be the one askin’ the questions. Too many strange things goin’ on here today. You – Hey, hold on a sec." The miner had come close enough to see them properly. "You’re from Shinra, aintcha? I seen them suits before, when that Scarlet woman came here. What the hell you doin’ in my mine?”

            “Do you know how to get to the reactor?” Aviva asked him.

            “Damn sure I do.  I dug these tunnels myself. But you can’t go there this way. Hell, don’t you people communicate with each other?”

            “What are you talking about?” said Reno.

            “Ran into another Shinra type back there, ‘bout ten minutes ago. Reactor construction guy. Told me they was shuttin’ down the mine for some routine testing and I should clear everybody out.”

             “Was he wearing blue goggles? And a flat cap with a neck cape?”

            “Nope. Technician guy. White coat. Glasses.”

            “Black hair? Kind of runty and geeky?”

            “That’s the one.”

            “Fuhito,” Reno breathed. He and Aviva exchanged glances. “Let’s go –“

            “Whoa,” said the miner, holding them back with a hand. “Somethin’ ain’t right here. First I got some Shinra guy tellin’ me to get everybody _out_ , and now I got more suits tryin’ to get _in_.  How do I even know you’re legit? Could be you’re them terrorists, plannin’ to blow up our reactor like they did in Nibelheim. So first you show me some ID. Then maybe I’ll help you.”

            Aviva looked to Reno for guidance. “Guess it can’t hurt,” he said.  They pulled out their ID. The miner bent his head to direct the beam of light onto the cards. “Reno. Aviva. Investigative Affairs Section, Department of Administrative Research. OK, I guess you check out. I’m Barrett. Barrett Wallace. I’m one of the union leaders. This here’s our mine, and that reactor – it’s _our_ reactor. You hear what I’m sayin’? We been waitin’ a long time for life to get a little easier round here. All our hopes are pinned on that reactor. So if there’s some kind of trouble, I think I oughtta know.”

            Once again Aviva turned her pleading face to Reno. He shook his head. “You heard the Boss, Veev.”

            “But Mr Wallace is right. And he can help us. I think we should tell him. I really do.” By the light of the miner’s lamp her black eyes shone up at him expectantly.

            Like another girl’s round, bright eyes, on another mission, in a different dark place.

            “Fucking _don’t – “_ he snapped.

            Aviva blinked and shrank into herself.

            _Shit_. Now he’d hurt her feelings. And that made _him_ feel like crap. He should be more careful: she didn’t deserve to get flakked by his shrapnel. 

            He sighed. “OK, Veev. Fine. Whatever you want.  Look, whatsyourname – Wallace - the reason why we’re here is privileged information.  But if that reactor’s important to you, then take us to it.  That’s all I can say.”

            Barrett sucked his teeth thoughtfully, looking from one Turk to the other and back again as he slowly made up his mind.

            “All right,” he said. “Follow me.”

.

            Twenty minutes later Aviva tugged on Reno’s sleeve. He bent his head, and she whispered in his ear, “See? We were lucky we ran into Mr Wallace. We’d never have found our way through this maze on our own.”

            Reno was not prepared to concede the point. “I would’ve. It would just have taken us a little longer, that’s all – “

            He broke off because she’d stumbled, grabbing hold of his arm to stop herself falling.

            “Are you OK, Veev?” 

            “Sure.”

            “You’re limping.”

            “I’m fine. Come on, let’s pick up the pace. I don’t want everyone waiting for me _aga-_ “

            “Shee-it,” whistled Barrett, stopping dead. “What the fuck is _that_?”

            “It’s just a machine gun,” said Reno. Before he'd finished speaking, the weapon barring their way came alive and stood upright with a sequence of clunks and clicks. A red beam of light pinpointed Barrett’s forehead. The barrel began to spin. There was a spark, a bang, and next moment the disabled machine gun was toppling sideways. “Programmed to target body heat,” Reno added, sliding his rod back up his sleeve.

            “That’s the unholiest goddamn thing I ever saw,” Barrett exclaimed. It was unclear whether he meant the machine gun or Reno’s weapon.

            “Really? Guess you must lead pretty sheltered lives down here. Well, let’s go. And keep your eyes and ears open. There’s bound to be more of those things around.”

.

            Three machine guns and one black-market gun bull head later, Barrett brought them out into the sunlight on the other side of the mines.  They were at the rail junction, where the narrow-gauge coal bogies were emptied into larger hopper cars for transportation across the trestle to the railhead beside the reactor.  As far as they could see, they were the only three human beings anywhere in the rocky landscape.

            “That’s the way,” said Barrett, pointing to the rollercoaster bridge.

            “Pretty exposed,” said Reno.  “And probably booby-trapped. All right. Thanks, mate. We’ll take it from here.”

            “The hell you are,” Barrett blustered. “This is my town and my mine. I’m comin’ with ya.”

            “If that’s what you want, fine.” Reno still had his rod in his hand after blasting the bull head.  Flipping it round, he struck Barrett on the temple with the butt-end. The miner fell to the ground unconscious.

            “Reno!” Aviva cried. “How could you? He helped us!”

            “And I’ve returned the favour. He’ll wake up in a couple of hours and go home with nothing worse than a headache. Seriously, Veev, you need to start growing up, OK?  Amateurs like him are a fucking liability.”

            Reno took hold of the unconscious Barrett by the armpits and began dragging him towards the mouth of the tunnel. “How about lending me a hand?” he grunted. “This guy’s no lightweight.”  After a moment’s hesitation, Aviva joined in, lifting Barrett’s legs by the ankles.  They moved the miner out of sight and made him as comfortable as they could. When that was done, Reno turned his attention to the problem of how to get safely across the bridge.

            “We can’t walk across. That would be suicide. Swim the river? Current looks too fast. What time’s it now, Veev?”

            “About three.”

            “Try calling Tseng.”

            She did. “His number’s unobtainable.”

            “He must still be inside the mines. Try the Chief.”

            While she dialed, he lit a cigarette.

            “He’s not answering,” she said.

            Reno made an exasperated noise, and ran his hands through his hair. “Man, I wish we had an engine.”

            “But why don’t we take one of the hoppers? It’s easy – there’s two levers inside, and you just push them up and down.”

            He stared at her. “How do you know that?”

            “I used to play in them when I was little. I grew up here, remember?”

            He hadn’t remembered, but felt it might be better to let her believe he had.  “Sure,” he nodded.  “Hometown girl. Great. Let’s get in, and you can show me what to do.”

            The levers were well-oiled and not heavy. “You push up while I push down,” she told him. Once they’d established a rhythm, the hopper began to move quite fast. Nobody sniped at them, there were no booby-traps, and the points were locked to the lower track. In five minutes they were across. It all seemed too easy.

            As soon as they could they abandoned the hopper and made their way on foot up the barren, boulder-strewn hillside.   There was very little shade. Reno’s skin prickled with sweat inside his suit; Aviva’s white face was flushed.  At last they reached the brow of the hill. Keeping low to the ground, the two Turks belly-crawled up the last few metres of scree, put their heads over the top, and gazed down at the green glow of the unfinished Mount Corel reactor, shiny as a big tin can bobbing in a syrupy well of mako.

            Reno rolled over and slid back down the scree, gesturing for Aviva to follow him.  A little to the left, an overhang of rock cast a narrow shadow. The two of them crept into its coolness. Reno wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

            “Try Tseng again,” he said.

            This time Tseng answered. He told them to stay where they were for now. The others were still assembling. He’d call them back in fifteen minutes.

            “I guess it’s breaktime,” said Reno.

            Side by side they leaned against the rock and looked east across the vista of jagged ridges and low, scrubby foothills. From this vantage point they could see in the distance the tarpaper rooftops of Corel Town, surrounded by a dense forest. Thin plumes of smoke rose from the town’s many chimneys.

            Aviva said, “When the reactor starts up, the mines will close. What’ll happen to everybody? How will they live?”

            “They’ll get nice clean jobs in the reactor.  You heard our friend. They can hardly wait. Or they’ll move somewhere else.”

            He lit another cigarette. Aviva smiled and inhaled deeply, eyes closed. “I love the smell of tobacco.”

            “Want one?”

            “Oh, no thanks. I tried one once, years ago. It made me puke.”

            “Suit yourself.”

            South beyond Corel the hills levelled out into grassy flatlands. Heat rippled the air, forming bands of distorted transparency. On every other side the mountains rose up, ridge after ridge, bare grey slabs of granite baking in the sun. Reno wondered what it was like to live here. The monotony. The boredom.

            He turned back to Aviva. “So anyway. Our friend Mr Wallace – d’you know him?”

            “Not really. Once we got out into the sunlight I did recognise him.  He’s a big wheel round here.  But he wasn’t…. He didn’t….” She was stammering now. “I mean… I didn’t have anything to do with him.”

            She fell silent. Her face was wistful, but not, he guessed, from any longing for the good old days.

            He thought back to the day she’d first joined them, a scared, skinny child in a suit that didn’t fit, her huge hungry eyes almost popping from their sockets with the strain of taking everything in.  She was determined to do whatever it took. That was the first thing he’d liked about her.  And then there were the assumptions she’d made about the adults around her, about what they expected from her, and her willingness to comply with those expectations – no, to excel. To show initiative. To _win_. She’d told them her whole history right there that day, without saying a word.  And Tseng had been shocked. The Boss had some weird little blindspots of naivety; Reno supposed it came from having been brought up in the office by the Commander. Tseng had been shocked, and then he’d got angry with Reno for not being shocked, and Reno had got angry with him. But not about Aviva. About Cissnei….

            He would never say to Aviva, _how bad was it? You wanna talk about it?_

She would never say to him, _how much does it still hurt? Do you think you’ll ever stop missing her?_

“Hey, Veev?”

            She came back from wherever her own thoughts had been drifting, and turned her face towards him. “Yes?”

            “I just wanted to say – you’re all right, you know?”

            A blush of confusion coloured her cheeks.  She really was kind of cute when she got all bashful.

            “You’re a good Turk,” he went on. “I always knew you would be. You’re a good partner, too. You’re upbeat and you don’t whinge, you just get on with the job. I know I can be tough on you sometimes, so I wanted to let you know… You’re OK, really.  Is all.”

            “Well…” she stammered, “Thanks -”

            Her phone buzzed. She answered it briefly. “It’s time to move,” she told Reno.

            He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt. “AVALANCHE are waiting for us in there. You realize that, don’t you?”

            Aviva nodded. He could see that she was scared, but was determined not to show it.  Smart kid. _If we all get out of here alive,_ he reflected _, we’ll be fucking lucky_. This thought, however, he kept to himself.

.

  
15.39 pm

The unfinished interior of the reactor put Tseng in mind of Aerith’s church. Same vaulted silences, same echoing emptiness. He walked into it with the same carefulness, putting each foot down slowly, heel to toe, making no sound. 

            He paused when he came to a girder bridge that spanned the pool of mako bubbling gently four stories below. Chrome pipes wide enough for a man to walk through arched over his head.  Diametrically opposite he could see a flash of red: Reno and Aviva had taken up their positions.  Skeet and Rude were in place at three o’clock, Tys and Mink at nine o’clock, all waiting for Tseng to give the word.

            The problem was, Tseng wasn’t sure what to do now. He had anticipated needing to fight their way in, but the reactor seemed to be deserted.

            Two possible scenarios suggested themselves.  One, AVALANCHE had planted bombs on a timer and withdrawn. If that was the case, the Turks needed to find the bombs and defuse them. Or, two, the reactor invasion had been a diversionary tactic, to lure the Turks away and keep them tied up while AVALANCHE pursued its real objective elsewhere.  If that were the case, the Commander would have called him by now. Tseng had already tried calling the Commander. No answer. He'd gone incommunicado again.

            Of one fact and one fact only was Tseng absolutely sure: AVALANCHE was no longer the big organisation it had been a year ago.  Charlie had achieved that much at least. What remained was a mere rump – but a rump with leadership, and in some ways more dangerous, because they now needed to be more cunning.  They could no longer afford to squander men in full frontal assaults like the one against Junon last year.  Guerilla tactics had become the order of the day.

            He decided the best thing to do would be to make a quick sweep of the whole building, to ensure no terrorists were lurking inside, and then he’d leave one of the teams to check for bombs while he took the rest back to Midgar –

            “You’re late,” said Rufus Shinra from behind him.

            Tseng whirled round.

            Rufus smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d given up and gone home.”

            “You can’t be here!” Tseng exclaimed.

            “Well, as you see, I am.”

            How could this be happening? How had the boy got here? And why? What had he come for?

            “And now, I think that’s everyone,” Rufus added.

              _He wants to be where the action is,_ Tseng realized _._ Of course that was it: Rufus had always been fascinated by the Turks and angling to be included in their business. He must have found out about this mission somehow and flow himself here. Damn Reno for teaching him how to fly a helicopter!

            “You have to leave,” said Tseng urgently. “Right _now_ , Rufus. It’s too dangerous. Go home.”

            From the other side of the reactor Mink called out, “Sir, is that the Vice-President?”

            “Rufus?” yelled Reno. “Boss, what the fuck is going on? Why’s he here?”

            “You shouldn’t let your subordinates swear at you,” Rufus advised him. “I wouldn’t put up with it for a minute.”

            “Go home,” Tseng repeated. “Now.”

            “I think you’ll find you’re not the one who gives the orders here,” said Rufus. His face broke into a real, boyish grin, and he added, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

            Heavy footsteps clattered loudly on the platform above their heads.  Everyone looked up. “Sir!” they cried.

            “All of you!” Commander Veld shouted. “Capture the Vice-President!”

            “What?” they chorused.

            “Excuse me,” said Rufus, pushing Tseng aside and running off along the catwalk towards the reactor core.

            “After him!” Veld ordered.

            Reno and Aviva broke into a run, Reno snarling, “What the hell is this farce - " 

            A gunshot reverberated in their ears.

            “Don’t shoot him, you idiot!” Veld yelled at Tys. “He musn’t be harmed. Catch him! Keep him safe! Mink – go to your left. Rude – go around behind the exhaust shafts and cut him off. Skeeter, stay where you are and block his exit.  Aviva, get the doors. Reno, run!”

            “I  _am_ running!"

            Veld came rattling down one set of metal stairs, but Rufus had found another and was racing up them towards a door.  Reno put on an extra burst of speed, flung himself forward and grabbed the Vice-President’s ankle. Rufus fell headlong, arms sprawling. “Got him!” Reno cried.

            The others rushed over. Rufus pulled himself into a sitting position and reached inside his jacket for his gun, but Reno was too quick for him, knocking it out of his hand with the butt of his rod.

            Commander Veld held up his hand for silence.

            He said, “President Shinra has authorized me to inform you that Vice-President Rufus is the one who has been controlling AVALANCHE.”

            There was a short, stunned silence.

            “What?” rasped Rude.

            “That’s ridiculous,” said Mink. “He’s just a kid.”

            “Nevertheless,” said Veld, “That’s how it is. Stand up, Rufus.”

            “Rufus, is this true?” said Tseng.

            Rufus was looking at Veld. “How long have you known?”

            “Since last December.”

            “What?” cried Reno.

            “Who betrayed me?” Rufus’ voice was calm.

            Veld shook his head. “That’s classified, I’m afraid, and you no longer have security clearance.  Until today, your father and I, and one other person, were the only people who knew about your – involvement. We had hoped that by wiping out AVALANCHE’s headquarters and eliminating their leadership we could resolve the problem and keep your part in it a secret.  But your actions today have made that impossible.  You cannot be trusted not to do something that would irrevocably damage this company’s future.  By order of the President, you are to be taken back to Midgar and held in confinement until such time as he decides you’ve learnt your lesson.”

            Rufus tossed his head. “Is that all?”

           Veld's teeth made a grating sound.  Tseng could see their Chief was fighting the urge to slap the smirk from Rufus’ face.

            “No,” said Veld. “It isn’t. You father also asked me to tell you this. He understands why you’ve done what you’ve done, and he forgives you. All he wants is what any parent wants. He wants you to be happy.  But this is not the way.”

            “Hmm,” said Rufus. “That’s pretty much what I would have expected from the old fraud. The thing is, though, we’re not on my father’s turf here. Why don’t you look up?”

            Veld and the other Turks raised their faces. “Fuhito!” Aviva cried.

            “Pleasure,” said Fuhito, bending over the railing of the platform above their heads. Gravity pulled his glasses down his nose; he pushed them back up. “And as you can see, it is we who have you surrounded.”  He gestured at the score of AVALANCHE operatives running out from behind him to take up positions around the railing, their gunsights trained on the Turks.

            “Well done,” said Rufus. “I wasn’t happy that you decided to occupy this reactor without my authorisation, but since then the situation has changed. These Turks have been getting in my way for long enough. Kill them, and I’ll overlook your insubordination this time.”

            “Rufus,” said Tseng softly, “You cannot be serious.”

             “I’ve gathered them all here for you. Like shooting fish in a barrel.” Though he was talking to Fuhito, it was Tseng Rufus looked at as he spoke. 

            “You fucking little piece of shit,” hissed Reno.  Aviva clutched his arm.

            The AVALANCHE operatives did not move.

            “Kill them!” Rufus yelled. “All of them! But not Tseng!”

            Fuhito giggled. “Tempting, but I’m afraid we've decided to go with a different plan.”

            “What do you mean?” Rufus shouted. “I’m ordering you to kill them.”

            “Please understand,” said Fuhito, “It’s entirely personal. We’ve been downsizing recently and you’ve become surplus to requirements -”

            Keeping his voice low, Commander Veld began to give his Turks orders. “We have to get Rufus out of here. We’re going to make for the east entrance. Once we put at least one floor between us they won’t be able to get a clear shot.  The important thing is to keep moving –“

            “You can’t do that to me!” Rufus was shouting. “Backstabber! Traitor! I’ll – I’ll cut off your funding!”

            “I don’t need your money, Shinra whelp. I’ve made alternative arrangements – “

            “- Reno, Tys, you’ll move first. Put some voltage into that metal they’re standing on. If that doesn’t knock them out, it’ll numb them. The rest of you will surround the Vice-President. Protect him with your lives. Tseng and I will cover you and bring up the rear. No one gets left behind. Understood?“

            “All right, everybody,” Fuhito sang out, “Kill them!”

            “Move!” shouted the Commander.

            Reno and Tys each flipped his rod to full power and cast a bolt of lighting into the walkway overhead. The rubber soles of the AVALANCHE operatives’ shoes saved them from being fried alive, but wherever they rested their guns on the railings, sparks popped and the shock buzzed up through their arms to their heads, setting their hair on end, burning their fingers.  Some weapons dropped from numb hands.

            The rest of the AVALANCHE crew fired wildly. Bullets ricocheted off walls, stairs, walkways. The Turks returned fire. Fuhito pulled out a mako gun and aimed it at Rufus’ head.

            “Duck!” shouted Skeeter, pushing him down.

            “Keep moving,” yelled the Commander.

            Rude took a ball of materia from his pocket and cast it over his shoulder. It hit one of the buttresses holding up the catwalk: the metal shuddered, rumbled, imploded.

            “Nice,” said Reno.

            “Earth,” Rude observed. “Wasn’t sure.”

            Three AVALANCHE operatives who had been standing on the catwalk were now clinging to the twisted wreckage, calling desperately for help, their feet dangling seventy feet above the green pool of mako.

            “Keep moving,” yelled the Commander.

            “Stop! Fuhito, stop!” cried a woman’s voice from high above. “Our people are dying! Let them go. It doesn’t matter.”

            “No!” cried Veld. He dropped his gun and curled into a crouch, both hands pressed over his ears.

            Tseng sank down next to him. “Sir – Commander – did you get hit? What’s wrong?”

            The woman’s voice rang out, “You, and you – go help your comrades before they fall!”

            “Stop it!” Veld shouted. “How are they doing this? Stop it! Stop it!”

            “Sir – “ Tseng tried to pull Veld’s hands away from his ears. “Sir – please – we have to keep moving – “

            “What’s wrong with the Commander?” cried Mink.

            “No!” Veld groaned. “No! No! Felicia! Felicia! No!”

            “Sir, please – your daughter’s not here, she’s dead – come on – “ Tseng fought to get Veld back on his feet.

            Amidst the burst of gunfire and the rattle of bullets, a small voice, a girl’s voice, said, “Daddy?”

            The woman had come to stand beside Fuhito, gripping the railing tightly with both hands.  One of her hands looked swollen and had a strange, unhealthy sheen.

            “That’s their leader!” Aviva exclaimed. “Elfe!”

            “Daddy?” said the woman again.

            “Sir – don’t listen to them,” cried Tseng. “It’s a trick. Felicia’s dead.”

            Veld raised his head and looked at her.

            “Felicia,” he said.

            Fuhito moved fast, twisting Elfe’s arm behind her back and pressing the muzzle of the mako gun to her ear.  “So this is your daughter, eh, Commander? That’s useful to know.  Though I can’t suppose you want her back, considering how you threw her onto the trash heap in the first place.  Ah, Shears – “ for the big man had that very moment entered from the door that led into the reactor core – “Are the explosives in place?”

            “What are you doing with Elfe?” Shears made his hands into fists. “Let her go.”

            “You know what?” said Fuhito. “I don’t think I need you any more, either.”

            He fired the mako gun at a point just in front of Shear’s feet. It cut through the metal like a hot knife through butter, and before Shears even had time to cry out, he fell.

            Veld lunged to his feet, but Tseng and Tys grabbed hold of him and held him back.

            “We’re going now,” said Fuhito. “You should do the same.”

            He pushed Elfe across the platform and through a second door, shutting it behind him.

            “Come on,” shouted Tseng. “Let’s get out of here.”

            “Look,” said Rufus. “Ravens.”

            Four of the black-clad operatives were blocking the path that led to sunlight and safety.

            Tseng gave the orders: “Mink, Rude, keep close to Rufus – just get him out of here. Reno, Skeet, Aviva, deal with the Ravens. Tys, help me with the Commander….”

            Veld was standing like one stunned by a blow between the eyes. They had to hit him, shove him, drag him towards the door.  He was a dead weight. In desperation Tseng slapped his cheek. “Sir! This place is going to blow up any minute! Help us!”

            “I don’t see how it’s possible,” said Veld.

            “Oh God,” cried Tseng. “Just pull him, Tys. Come on, sir, come on – “

            Finally they were all outside, squinting in the bright light, taking deep breaths. “Don’t stop,” Tseng told them.  “Keep going….”

            One after another they ran across the railway bridge, and when they reached the safety of solid ground they threw themselves onto it gratefully, Rufus as well as the rest.  The fresh air, or the sunshine, or both, had restored Veld to his senses: he brought up the rear as he always did, guarding his Turks’ backs. Then he counted them. Then he said, “Where’s Aviva?”

            “There,” Rude pointed.

            She was standing in the doorway of the reactor, a hand pressed down on her thigh.

            “Come on!” they shouted.

            She tried to run, but she was limping badly. Behind her, in the doorway, the bulky shadow of a man loomed.

            Reno jumped to his feet. “I’ll get her – “

            Before he could move, the reactor exploded.

 


End file.
